


And Other Duties As Required

by spuffyduds



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), due South
Genre: Crossover, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser's reluctant.  Tony's persuasive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Other Duties As Required

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queue/gifts).



> Background Pepper /Tony.

“You know it‘s ridiculous for you to be providing security, right? I mean, I could take out dozens of you by myself. A whole--squad? Platoon. What do you call a bunch of Mounties?”

Fraser runs through medieval group nouns in his head; “an exultation” is hardly appropriate, given his mood. “A murder” is more descriptive of his current mindset, but might be taken as threatening.

“An annoyance of Mounties,” he says, and is surprised when Stark barks out a laugh.

“Hey, it’s _human_!” Stark says, moving closer and poking him, annoyingly, in the chest. “I was starting to wonder. And yeah, I know, visiting dignitary, or, well, celebrity. Protocol. Rules. I get it. It’s just a waste of your time.”

And having someone else point out that it’s a waste of his time makes Fraser, perversely, considerably less miffed at the waste of his time. 

“Well,” he says, “I’ve babysat worse.”

Stark snorts and goes back to rooting through his suitcase, mumbling about the idiocy of dress socks and having to meet and greet mayors. “How long’ve we got before this excruciating dinner, anyway?”

“Two hours and seventeen minutes. During which time I have been instructed, via phone from Ms. Potts, that you are neither to consume alcohol nor do anything that might set your dress clothes on fire.”

Stark sits on the bed. He’s still barefoot, which when combined with the dress pants and shirt is…distracting. “Well,” Stark says. “That leaves a lot of other options.”

“Gin rummy?” Fraser says, blandly, because surely he _can’t_ have meant--

“I count cards, I always win, I get bored,” Stark says. “Wanna fuck?”

Fraser makes a strangled noise that turns into a cough, and then, for lack of a better response, coughs some more. His brain fails to suggest any more useful tactic. He is just going to have to cough forever.

Stark, to his surprise, goes into the suite’s bathroom and comes back with a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Fraser says, and because it’s the only non-lethally-embarrassing way out of this, adds, “I’m still getting accustomed to American humor.”

“Not joking and you know it,” Stark says. “Guy looks like you, c’mon, you gotta get hit on every twenty minutes.”

“Not usually so…directly,” Fraser says. He backs away from Stark, smiling politely, and sits down on the suite’s couch. It’s further away from the bed, which seemed like a good idea, but now he’s having lurid mental images of doing things on the couch instead. Not helpful.

Stark is remarkably flexible in the mental images. He probably really is, to be able to manipulate the suit the way he does. Fraser shivers slightly and tries to remember why this would be an extremely bad idea.

“Ah, Ms. Potts!” he says. “Aren’t you two--isn’t she--?”

“We are,” Stark says, but he’s getting up from the bed, he’s coming over to the couch, he’s sitting much too close. “But she’s not here, is she?”

Oh, and _there’s_ the reason it’s a bad idea, thank _god_. “I have no wish to aid and abet cheating,” 

Stark leans in close to Fraser’s ear. His cologne is exquisite. Probably he has his own line of it.

“I am a _huge_ slut,” he whispers, and Fraser shivers as the sibilance curls into his ear and then down his spine, and then Stark sits back up straight and grins at him and adds, “But I am not a cheater.” 

Stark pulls his cell phone out of a pocket, pokes a thumb at it and then says, “Pepper? Standard disclaimer for Constable Fraser,” and holds the phone out to Fraser, who can hear Ms. Potts’ voice laughing, “Jesus, Tony, the _Mountie_?” before he takes it.

“I…yes,” Fraser says into the phone. 

“Go for it,” Ms. Potts says cheerfully. “But quickly, okay? And clean him up before the meeting.”

“Right,” Fraser says.

He hangs up and just stares at Stark for a moment. The man is really ridiculously handsome. But this is--this is a ludicrous idea, and a dereliction of duty, and--

Stark climbs astraddle his lap and kisses him.

It’s been a long time since Fraser’s been kissed, and even longer since it was done with this much--expertise and enthusiasm.

“Ah, wait--”

“Come _on_!” Stark says, sounding about four.

“No, I’m not objecting,” Fraser says. He’s still a bit bewildered that he _isn’t,_ but, well. There you go. “It’s just--Ms. Potts--your dress clothes--she was very specific. And emphatic.”

“Right,” Stark says, standing up. Fraser has only a moment to regret the loss of the hot weight on his lap before he’s entirely recompensed by the fact that Stark is briskly stripping.

He’s naked in a matter of seconds, dropping the clothes on the floor, then stands there grinning like someone who is entirely used to viewers liking what they see.

Fraser does, inarguably, but he still makes himself say, “Clothes. Hang them up before they wrinkle.”

He really only intended to avert the wrath of Ms. Potts, but Stark's eyes widen at the order, and his cock, already hard, twitches. Interesting.

“ _Now_ …Tony,” he says, because the familiarity seems more apropos, and he guessed right, because now Tony’s eyes flutter half-shut and he follows the order with a little smile. A dreamy, slightly drunk-looking little smile. Excellent.

He drifts back to the couch when the clothes are neatly hung up, and Fraser stands and strips while Tony watches, then drops back down on the cushions and spreads his legs. Oddly, every shred of his hesitation has been erased by Tony’s unexpected pliability.

“Suck me,” he says, and yes, probably later he will be aghast at having said that to someone he barely knows--to a _famous billionaire_ he barely knows, but right now, right now Tony is dropping to his knees, Tony is running his hands up Fraser’s thighs and moaning, Tony is taking Fraser’s cock in his mouth.

Fraser groans and his hips jerk up, he can’t help it, and he would apologize but the way Tony’s hands grab at his hips and pull up harder indicates pretty clearly that he doesn’t need to.

Fraser’s head falls back against the cushions and he stares at the ceiling, because if he watches Tony do this, watches his glossy dark head bobbing, he will last about eight seconds. He can’t keep himself from touching, though, can’t prevent his fingers from sliding up into Tony’s hair, clutching and…petting.

Tony makes a glorious little whimper at that, so Fraser keeps it up. Keeps petting Tony’s hair and staring at the ceiling and _not coming not coming_ and oh damn, he’s coming.

His eyes close and he just _feels_ , just rides that beautiful feeling-not-thinking for a couple of minutes. And by the time he’s back in his head, ready to apologize for not warning Tony, he doesn’t bother, because Tony’s climbed back up in his lap to kiss him.

And Fraser would like to do something elaborate, like to spread Tony across the bed and nip at every inch of him for hours, make him beg for more, but. They have orders.

Fraser gets a hand in between them and works Tony’s cock, and Tony’s moaning and squirming against him, rubbing his face against the side of Fraser’s neck. That skin-to-skin contact, that wordless unabashed affection, even from a near-stranger, is almost as good as the orgasm, and Fraser gets his other arm tight around Tony’s back while he brings him off, gratifyingly quickly; good to know he’s not alone in his level of enjoyment.

Tony collapses against Fraser’s sticky chest, boneless in his arms, and it would be easy to pull him closer, easy to drift off to sleep with a warm gorgeous armful. But Fraser manages to murmur “Shower. Mayor. Pepper. Wrath,” into Tony’s ear, and they both stagger to the bathroom.

Fraser takes a brisk shower and gets out to give both of them time to--recover, get back to normal, something. Once he’s fully dressed and standing there waiting for Tony he thinks that may have been a mistake--Tony will walk out of the bathroom and things will have grown strange and awkward.

But Tony comes out still naked, not even bothering with a towel, kisses Fraser casually on the way to the closet, and talks all the way through the dressing process.

“That was unexpected,” he says, “I mean, not the sex, I was pretty confident about that happening, but the toppy side. Not complaining, obviously, but-- that uniform, I thought if anything _you’d_ be into getting ordered around.”

“I--well--sometimes.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, finishes buckling his belt and starts on his tie. “I think I can work with that,” he says.

Fraser can’t quite suppress his shiver.

“So,” Tony says, “I need to put in a couple of hours at this excruciating dinner so as not to offend anybody, which believe me is not usually a concern of mine but Pepper has put me on a strict quota of number of people I can offend and I blew this month’s quota in the first three days. But, after that, you busy?”

“Yes,” Fraser says, and watches, and yes, Tony doesn’t quite manage to hide a quick flash of disappointment, thank god.

“I’ve got a celebrity in desperate need of babysitting,” Fraser adds.

Tony grins, says, “ _Desperate_ , yeah,” and pokes Fraser lightly in the chest on their way out the door. Fraser doesn’t really mind, this time.

\---end---


End file.
